


A road of our own

by barbitone



Series: Captive Prince Fanfiction [25]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Companion Piece, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Language Barrier, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:54:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24189223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbitone/pseuds/barbitone
Summary: As the Vaskians came closer to examine their prizes, Jean knew exactly how this would go. Ancel was the prettiest and the most ambitious, so he’d go for the leader. Mathe was more shrewd, he’d keep his options open while he figured out which man would be the best to seduce.Jean didn’t care so much for the politics of it all. He only had eyes for the man he'd noticed before, tall and muscled, marked by a deep scar over his face. He had kind eyes.(Companion story toThe Road Not Taken, Jean and Dorak's first night together)
Relationships: Jean/Dorak, OC/OC
Series: Captive Prince Fanfiction [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1455904
Comments: 29
Kudos: 100





	A road of our own

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Road Not Taken](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23810251) by [barbitone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbitone/pseuds/barbitone). 



> By popular demand, he's a short story about Jean and Dorak, set in Chapter 4 of [The Road Not Taken](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23810251/chapters/57206962) :)

* * *

Jean tried to think positively as he and the others were taken from Vere. The other pets seemed sure they were being taken to Vask, but what did they know? Nothing. Maybe it would be alright. Maybe all of it would be alright. There was no sense in despairing quite yet.

The wagon slowed and came to a stop. Georgie turned to peer through the slats of the wagon. “You were right,” he whispered to Mathe. “Vaskians. A dozen of them- all men.”

Jean turned too, frowning as he stared. “I thought the Vaskian tribes were led by women?” 

He could make out the men through the slats of the wagon. They were all warriors, rough and scarred, dangerous.

His last master had been a soft-bellied Lord. Jean couldn’t help the thrill that ran through him when he caught sight of a giant of a man, his biceps probably as big around as Jean’s head. He was hanging back with his arms crossed over his chest as the leader spoke through an interpreter to the Regent's men.

“Must be raiders then,” Mathe muttered. “We’re probably meant as payment for whatever they’ve been doing for the Regent.”

“Killing and pillaging, goading on the Akielons,” Ancel said.

He would know, Jean figured. He’d heard tales that Ancel was working both sides, spying on the Regent to gain favor with the Prince while he was Lord Droet’s pet. It didn’t much matter now that they were all in the same wagon.

“Are they going to- to rape us?” Theo asked. Poor thing. He was much too young to know the realities of the world.

“Yeah, probably,” Mathe muttered.

“On no,” Theo whined, his eyes glittering with tears in the darkness of the wagon. “What are we going to do?”

“Try and relax your arsehole,” Mathe said. “Pray they use oil.”

Theo sobbed and Jean hissed in annoyance, glaring at Mathe. _“You’re_ the arsehole.”

“Am I supposed to lie and say they’ll lay us out on a bed of roses and feed us milk and honey?” Mathe demanded, his voice rising.

“Shut it,” Ancel said, elbowing Mathe sharply in the side before moving to look through the slats himself.

It wasn’t long before the Regent’s men pulled open the back of the wagon, urging them all out.

Jean followed after the others, blinking at the sudden influx of light.

As the Vaskians came closer to examine their prizes, Jean knew exactly how this would go. Ancel was the prettiest and the most ambitious, so he’d go for the leader. Mathe was more shrewd, he’d keep his options open while he figured out which man would be the best to seduce.

Jean didn’t care so much for the politics of it all. He only had eyes for the man he saw before, tall and muscled, marked by a deep scar over his face. He had kind eyes.

While Ancel and Mathe stood tall and powerful beside him, Jean smiled shyly at the man he’d picked out, blushing a little as he noticed the man watching him with interest. He paid only as much attention as he needed to while Ancel flirted with the chieftain.

Instead, Jean snuck shy glances at the Vaskian man who’d drifted close to him. Jean smiled as the man reached out to gently card his fingers through his blond curls. For such a big rough-looking man, his touch was as light as the fluttering of a bird’s wing. He smelled of wood smoke and pine. His eyes were as blue as the cloudless sky and just as clear.

“So- we’re all square here?” one of the Regent’s soldiers asked.

The leader, Halfdan, nodded as he set his hand on the back of Ancel’s neck, pulling him over to his horse. The Vaskian slave, Roux, motioned to Mathe and the others. Jean blushed as he reached out to take his Vaskian’s hand, smiling up at him encouragingly. Wonders of wonders- the Vaskian blushed too _._ Jean smiled wider.

 _“Dorak,”_ the Vaskian said, his voice a deep rumble.

“What?” Jean asked. “I don’t understand.”

 _“Dorak,”_ the man repeated, pressing a palm flat to his own chest.

“Oh,” Jean said. “Dorak.” He copied the motion. “Jean.”

 _“Jean,”_ Dorak tried, though the way he said it sounded rougher, like _Gin._

“Jean,” Jean said, delighted.

 _“Jon,”_ Dorak tried to copy, frowning faintly.

“We’ll work on it,” Jean said with a laugh. There was a crease between Dorak’s eyebrows from his frown and Jean was bold enough to reach up and brush it away.

Dorak flushed and cleared his throat, turning to lead Jean to one of the giant mountain stallions. He said something in Vaskian before turning to Jean and setting his hands on his waist. Jean had seen Halfdan do something similar with Ancel, lifting him up onto the saddle of his horse.

“No,” Jean said, pushing Dorak’s hands away.

 _“No?”_ Dorak repeated, clearly puzzled.

“No,” Jean said with a shake of his head. “Like this.” He took one of Dorak’s hands and pulled it towards himself palm up, like a Veretian aristocrat might offer to someone they were courting. “Yes,” Jean said, nodding, and took Dorak’s outstretched hand delicately, using it as a support as he climbed into the saddle.

Dorak still seemed puzzled as he climbed up into the saddle behind him, a warm solid weight at Jean’s back. It was a pleasant enough way to travel- held safe and close by a big handsome man as they rode along scenic mountain trails. It was certainly better than the stinky wagon and Mathe’s endless complaining.

After an hour’s travel the sun started to set, painting the sky in brilliant hues of red and gold. The dark foreboding pines opened up and Jean couldn’t help a quiet gasp as he took in the full majesty of the mountains around them.

Dorak rumbled something faintly puzzled, concern clear in his voice. Jean laughed, reaching back to settle his hand on Dorak’s powerful thigh. “It’s beautiful,” he said.

“Hm,” Dorak hummed.

It wasn’t much longer before they reached a camp, full of laughter and rhythmic drumming. The camp was arranged around a center bonfire, the ground around it strewn with animal skins. There were already men sitting on them, rough-looking warriors that leered as Dorak helped Jean dismount.

Jean couldn’t help but wilt under their attention, worried about what might happen to him in a way he hadn’t been before.

Dorak said something, the tone of his voice gentle and reassuring, as he handed the reins of his horse off to Roux and led Jean over to the fire, sitting across from Halfdan who was holding court on a makeshift throne of animal pelts. Ancel was sitting beside him and smiling prettily, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Still, he’d gotten exactly what he wanted. Only a few hours in and he was already holding the top position of all the slaves.

Jean paid him no mind, settling beside Dorak on one of the pelts. The air smelled of roasting meat and bitter liquor. Dorak waved away the pitcher when it was passed to him, opening his water skin instead. He went to take a swig before pausing and offering it over. Jean took it before taking a careful sip of the liquid inside. It was some sort of strongwine, sweet and heady. Jean smiled and took another sip before handing it back.

There was food then, simple but good. It was far better than the stale bread and water the Regent’s men were giving them during their travel here.

Jean sat pressed close to Dorak’s side. He felt warm and sleepy like an indolent cat curled up in its master’s lap. The peace came to an abrupt end when one of the other men reached for him with a leering grin, grasping fingers stained with animal fat and dirt. Jean flinched and Dorak turned, slapping the hand away and baring his teeth at its owner with a dangerous growl. No one else dared try to touch Jean after that and he couldn’t help the swell of happiness rising within him.

Once the food had been finished, Dorak rose and offered his hand like Jean had shown him before. His courtly manners were better than some of the Lords Jean had served and he grinned, taking his hand and rising. The others were still engaged in drinking and bawdy talk but Dorak paid them no mind. Maybe he was a bit of an outsider in his clan. Maybe he simply couldn’t wait to be alone with Jean.

Jean liked to think it was the latter.

Dorak led the way to a tent on the edge of camp, There was a bucket of water outside and Dorak stripped out of his clothes before dipping a cloth into the water and bathing with quick efficient movements. Jean’s mouth went a little dry as he watched water sluicing over Dorak’s tanned skin, muscles shifting with every movement.

His last master had been a short pudgy man in his fifties. His breath had smelled and he got up half a dozen times a night to relieve himself, and half the time he couldn’t keep his prick hard. On one awfully memorable occasion, Jean had sucked him for almost an _hour_ before his master finally told him to stop. He was insufferable for the whole week after.

As Jean stared shamelessly at Dorak’s cock, more than respectably large even in its flaccid state, he imagined he probably wouldn’t have those sorts of… issues. No, Dorak probably fucked like a stallion. He could probably go for hours, his muscles glistening in the firelight with every movement-

Dorak looked up and flushed as he caught Jean watching. Jean took off his tunic, unashamed of his nudity. He didn’t have Ancel’s exotic red hair or Mathe’s wiry muscles, but he was pretty enough. He didn’t exactly have his pick of the Lords at court but he knew he was attractive, if a bit plain. Dorak ran his eyes appreciatively down Jean’s body, his mouth slack. Well. That was encouraging.

Jean stepped forward, splaying his hand over Dorak’s chest. His pectoral muscle jumped under Jean’s touch and he stuttered out some retort in Vaskian before shoving the damp cloth at Jean and turning away.

He was _shy._ Jean couldn’t help the delighted grin spreading over his lips.

Dorak ducked into the tent as Jean washed, shivering at the cool breeze ghosting over his damp skin. It wasn’t long until Dorak returned. Jean was disappointed to note he was wearing a pair of trousers, his magnificent cock once again hidden from view. It was a shame, an utter shame. Perhaps even a crime.

Dorak was still blushing faintly as he held out a rough-spun shirt, probably one of his own. Jean pulled it on, though he wasn’t sure why. Weren’t they about to fuck? Still, it was warm and smelled pleasantly of smoke and pine, of _Dorak._ It dwarfed Jean comically but he found he didn’t mind as Dorak took his hand- gentle, courtly- and pulled him into the tent.

It was rather small inside, intimate. The firelight from outside filtered through the walls, lighting up the tent with a dim red glow. The ground was covered in furs, warm and soft against Jean’s bare legs. Dorak lay down beside him on his back, offering a thin blanket. Jean blinked at him, confused. Dorak offered the blanket again and Jean pushed his hand away, moving to straddle one of his thick thighs.

He’d started getting aroused while watching Dorak washing outside and his cock was only growing harder as he dragged his hands down Dorak’s chest, glorying at how he twitched in surprise, how his chest rose and fell as his breath quickened. And what a chest, all muscle and smooth skin.

“Look at you,” Jean whispered, amazed that this was happening at all. He’d never imagined anyone like Dorak in his wildest dreams, and now he was sitting astride him in a rawhide tent. “I’m going to make you mine.”

 _“Jean,”_ Dorak breathed out. _Jon._

Jean grinned gleefully. He decided he liked the way Dorak said his name, rough and rumbling.

 _“Jean, nyet,”_ Dorak said, taking hold of Jean’s wrists. _“No,”_ he said. He must have remembered it from when Jean had said it to him when he’d first tried to help him up onto his horse. Jean frowned as Dorak stuttered over some rushed Vaskian sentence. It was a refusal. Jean blinked.

“Yes,” he said, but pulled his hands away from Dorak’s chest. “I want you. You want me too, I can tell.” He reached down to press one of his hands to the hard ridge of Dorak’s cock, straining up against his worn woolen trousers.

Dorak flinched and Jean pulled away.

“Dorak,” he said, taking one of Dorak’s hands and pressing it to his thigh, trailing it upwards. It was a strange feeling- Dorak’s hands were rough from work and fighting, his callouses dragging deliciously against the soft skin of Jean’s thigh. “Feel me.” He pressed Dorak’s hand to his own cock only for Dorak to pull back as if he’d been burned.

Except the flush of arousal only deepened over his face. What was he so afraid of?

Jean stared at him expectantly. Dorak didn’t move. He really wasn’t going to, Jean realized incredulously. He wasn’t going to fuck him.

“Really?” he asked while Dorak stared up at him, his glorious chest heaving as he clenched his hands into fists over the furs. “Well, fine,” Jean said, annoyed. “But I’m not going to sleep like- like _this.”_ He moved his hand down to touch himself, hissing a little at the blissful pressure of it as he started to stroke. “If you’re not going to help, just lie there and look pretty for me.”

Jean leaned forward, bracing himself with his free hand on Dorak’s chest. Dorak watched, wide-eyed as Jean arched his back with a quiet moan, getting closer to his climax with each stroke. He moaned again when Dorak reached up to set his shaking hands on Jean’s thighs, still straddling him. His hands were so big, Jean couldn’t help wondering what it would feel like to have his fingers inside him. He moaned at the thought, coming with a shudder as he stared into Dorak’s dark eyes, his release painting Dorak’s quivering stomach.

Jean couldn’t help but stare at his own come staining Dorak’s tanned skin.

For a moment they were both frozen there, and then Dorak sighed and surged upwards, wrapping his hand around the back of Jean’s neck and pulling him down into a kiss.

Jean moaned at the feeling of Dorak pressed against him, at the feeling of his oversensitive cock dragging against Dorak’s abs, smearing through the mess he’d made.

 _“Jean,”_ Dorak groaned, turning to pin Jean under him before moving to kiss his neck, his ears, his collarbone.

“Touch me,” Jean demanded, taking Dorak’s hand and putting it on his thigh, dragging it upwards under his shirt.

Dorak said something in the cadence of a curse and Jean laughed, wrapping a leg around him to pull him closer, to urge him to press his hard cock to Jean’s hip. Luckily Dorak didn’t need much more instruction after that.

He rolled his hips slowly against Jean as he touched him everywhere, his rough fingers leaving Jean’s skin singing. He was growing hard again by the time Dorak pulled a vial of oil from somewhere in the furs and slicked his fingers, pushing carefully, so carefully, inside. Jean moaned, eyes fluttering shut as he arched into it.

He’d never particularly enjoyed this part of fucking- the _before_ part. It had never been anything more than necessary preparation, something to get through to get to the next part, to the finish. It felt different now with Dorak’s fingers inside him, Dorak’s lips against his throat, Dorak’s chest pressed to his own.

This didn’t feel like a before part. This felt good in its own way. Dorak twisted his fingers up and Jean made a shocked broken sound, trembling as pleasure rolled through him.

Dorak paused, looking at him with a faint frown. _“Da?”_ he whispered. _“Yes?”_

“Yes,” Jean answered, wrapping his arms around Dorak’s shoulders and burying his face against his neck. “Yes, yes, please, _yes-”_

Dorak rumbled out something muffled and pleased, returning to pushing his fingers in and out steadily while Jean trembled against him. It lasted for ages, until Jean felt wild and mindless, his cock achingly hard and drooling precome over his stomach. And still Dorak seemed content to simply fuck him with his fingers, to press kisses to his chest and suck his nipples into his mouth, lavishing attention on them until they were peaked and glistening with saliva.

“Your cock,” Jean growled when he couldn’t take it anymore. “I need your cock.” He reached down to palm Dorak’s hard length so he’d finally understand.

Dorak groaned and pushed into his hand, thrusting once, twice, before he finally pulled back and fumbled with the laces of his trousers. Jean turned so he was on his hands and knees, arching his back expectantly so Dorak would _just-_

He groaned at the hot slide of Dorak’s cock inside him. He was prepared, relaxed, and still it burned a little even as it filled him up. Jean whimpered with the mix of pleasure and pain, his arms collapsing so he was lying ass up with his face pressed to the furs, tears coming to his eyes. If anything his cock was even harder, throbbing where it bobbed, untouched, between his thighs.

Dorak paused to stroke his palm over Jean’s side. _“No?”_ he asked uncertainly.

Jean shuddered, taking deep breaths.

 _“Jean?”_ Dorak asked. _“No?”_

“Yes,” Jean groaned. “Yes. Keep going, don’t stop. Yes.”

Dorak sighed and bent over him, his chest hot and damp with sweat where it was pressed to Jean’s back. He started moving again, slow and steady, as steady as waves lapping against the shore. Jean whined impatiently and spread his legs wider, arching his back more to take him in deeper.

“Oh, fuck that’s good,” Jean mumbled, his thoughts scattering. “That’s so good. You feel so good inside me.”

 _“Good?”_ Dorak asked, breathy.

“Good,” Jean repeated, laughing. “Yes, it’s good. Yes-”

More than anything he wanted to touch himself, to _come_ after so long waiting, but he didn’t think he could move, pinned under Dorak fucking steadily into him. Dorak shifted, finding an angle that had sparks bursting behind Jean’s eyelids with every thrust, and Jean thought maybe he didn’t need to. Maybe he could come just like this.

He never had, before. But this was nothing like before. This had his blood singing in a way no soft-bellied Lordling had ever managed to make him feel.

Dorak’s movements grew unsteady, his grunting louder. He slipped his hand under Jean’s chest, dragging upward to take hold of his shoulder before he was pulling Jean up and back so he was kneeling in his lap, back still pressed to Dorak’s chest. Jean gasped, the breath momentarily knocked out of him at how full he felt, how deep Dorak was inside him.

He raised his arms to grip at Dorak’s shoulders behind him, trying to get the leverage he needed to rock up and down on Dorak’s cock, needing just a little more, just a little-

Dorak wrapped an arm around Jean’s waist, keeping him from moving. Jean whined in disappointment, speared open on Dorak’s cock and held frozen, almost there and not quite. The disappointment fled when Dorak dragged his free hand up his thigh and wrapped around his cock, moving like he had all the time in the world. 

“Please,” Jean begged brokenly, shuddering at each stroke. “Please- more, please-”

He tried to push his hips up and Dorak rumbled out a laugh, taking pity on him at last and speeding up. Jean writhed in his lap, Dorak’s harsh breathing loud in his ear. 

_“Good?”_ Dorak asked, his voice shaking.

“Y-yes,” Jean managed to stutter out. “Yes, yes it’s-” He cried out as his climax took him, every muscle in his body tightening only to release. Dorak stroked him through it, and then he came with a gasp of his own, holding Jean tight and muttering in broken Vaskian as he pressed kisses to Jean’s neck.

Slowly Jean felt himself come down from the edge of bliss, and finally he laughed a little, his thighs shaking as he pushed himself up and off of Dorak’s softening cock to collapse to the furs. Dorak bent down to kiss the swell of his backside before slipping outside the tent and returning with a damp cloth.

Jean watched, heavy lidded, as Dorak cleaned him up with slow steady strokes.

“Fuck,” he breathed out when Dorak returned to lie beside him.

 _“Fuck?”_ Dorak asked.

Jean grinned, forming an O with the thumb and index finger of one hand before pushing the pointer finger of his other through it in a repetitive motion that was impossible to misinterpret.

Dorak blushed and covered Jean’s hands with one of his own, pushing them down to the furs.

“Fuck,” Jean said.

Dorak smiled, sleepy and sated. He looked even more handsome now than he had before.

“It’s also…” Jean paused, staring up at the ceiling of the tent. “Fuck!” he said with an angry frown, shaking his fist at the sky.

Dorak laughed. _“Bliat,”_ he murmured.

“Hm,” Jean said. _“Bliat.”_ He reached out to run his fingers down Dorak’s chest. “Dorak good bliat.”

Dorak grinned. _“Yes?”_

“Yes,” Jean said, curling up against his side with a pleased sigh.

  
  


_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at [barbitone](http://barbitone.tumblr.com/) and pillowfort also at [barbitone](https://www.pillowfort.io/barbitone)


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